doubted that she’d come here to steal anything, or that Mildred Witherspoon even had anything worth stealing. What did he care if this woman stayed here and was on her way in the morning? Who was he to begrudge her a night’s stay in an empty house?
But there was something in her eyes, something beyond the wary defiance. Something as quiet as it was fierce. Something desperate. And whatever that something was, it closed around him like a fist and squeezed.
Dammit, Gabe, just walk away.
Lord knew he didn’t need or want any complications in his life. He should just do what he came here to do, then turn around, walk out the front door and go to Reese’s tavern where he could toss back a beer or two. Not think about the frightened look in this woman’s eyes. She’d be gone in the morning, and they could both forget they’d ever seen each other.
That’s what he should do.
But he couldn’t, dammit. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t.
“Miss Witherspoon died two weeks ago,” he said evenly. “Now do you want to try it again and tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”
Her breathing seemed to stop, and her eyes closed with what appeared to be genuine concern. She drew in a slow, shaky breath, then opened her eyes again.
“How?” she asked quietly.
“She just went to sleep and didn’t wake up,” Gabe replied. “We should all be so lucky at ninety-two.”
“She seemed so much younger on the phone,” the woman said thoughtfully. “So full of life.”
“That’s one way to describe her,” Gabe replied. He could think of several other descriptions he’d keep to himself.
“I’m sorry about Miss Witherspoon,” the woman said abruptly, then straightened her shoulders. “And since it now appears that we’re imposing, my son and I will be on our way.”
She reached behind her, took her son’s small hand in her own and started for the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Come on, sweetie, we’re going to leave now.”
Gabe blocked her way. “You haven’t told me who you are.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” she said coolly and tried to step around him.
He stepped in front of her again.
Her eyes narrowed with anger. Gabe stood close enough to the woman now to see that her eyes were gray. Dove-gray, with a dark charcoal ring around the iris.
When he pulled out the slim cell phone tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, he watched that soft gray harden to the color of steel.
“Get out of my way,” she said tightly.
“I’m afraid not.” He punched the buttons on his phone. “And since you won’t talk to me, then we’ll just have to call someone you will talk to.” He pushed the Send button.
“No.” She stared at the phone, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. “Please don’t call the police. Please.”
“I’m out at the Witherspoon house,” Gabe said into the phone a moment later. “Get over here as soon as you can. Bring two of Reese’s best.” He paused, then said, “Yeah, I’ll explain when you get here.”
Gabe hung up the phone, watched the fear on the woman’s face turn to panic as she gauged the distance to the opposite doorway. Even without a small child, she never would have made it. When her gaze swung back to his, the look of defeat in her eyes stabbed sharply into his gut.
She didn’t want his help, that was for certain, Gabe thought with a sigh, but she sure as hell was going to get it.
Trapped.
Her heart pounding, Melanie Hart stared at her captor and fought back the dread welling up in her stomach. He was much too tall for her to outrun; those long legs of his could easily overtake her. And she’d already experienced firsthand the power and strength of his well-honed body, a body she would have greatly admired under different circumstances. He was solid muscle under his faded blue jeans and chambray shirt.
But she couldn’t let herself be caught. Couldn’t let the police find her and Kevin.
She took a step toward the doorway again, but the man moved with her, slowly shaking his head.
How could she fight him? Especially with Kevin clutching so tightly to her legs. Determination glinted in the man’s dark green gaze, and the stubborn set of his strong jaw gave her no hope. The sight of blood on his angled cheek startled her. Had she done that in their scuffle? Guilt tugged at her, but she quickly shrugged it off. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but if necessary, she would. What choice did she have?
Lifting her chin, she drew in a slow breath to steady her nerves. “This is kidnapping,” she said with a calm that amazed herself. “You have no reason, and certainly no right, to keep me and my son here. I want you to know I intend to press charges.”
“Fair enough.” He lifted a dark brow, then gestured toward the doorway leading to the living room. “In the meantime, why don’t we go sit down? Filling out all those forms will be tiring.”
Once again she thought about running, but the futility of escape loomed as dark as the night. She’d have to find some way to distract this man, or perhaps reason with him, though that possibility appeared to lie somewhere between slim and none.
He stayed close behind as she moved out of the dining room with her son, effectively squelching any ideas she might have had about dashing out the front door as they passed through the entry at the bottom of the stairs. When they stepped into the living room, he flipped on a small brass table lamp.
The room was spacious, high beveled ceilings, tall windows, hardwood floors. A fireplace big enough to drive a Volkswagen into. Oil paintings, mostly landscapes, hung on off-white walls. Two Queen Anne chairs and a long sofa were slip-covered, tables and desks and chairs of various styles and woods completed the room. Like the rest of the house, the scent was musty and stale.
Her captor gestured for her to sit. She glared at him, then took her son’s hand and moved to the sofa.
How could she have known that Miss Witherspoon had died? She had spoken with the woman, though it had been four weeks ago, not last week. Melanie had known that the woman was elderly, but she’d sounded so fit, with too much grit and pluck to die. When she’d driven up a little while ago and discovered the house empty, Melanie had simply thought that the woman was away.
She knew that she’d made a mistake lying about Miss Witherspoon inviting her here, a big mistake. Dammit. She blinked back the threatening tears. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
But she was tired. So incredibly tired. And so was Kevin. After leaving California, she’d taken her time zigzagging across the country. But the trip was taking its toll on both her and Kevin, not only the traveling and moving around, but the constant worry, the fear, was mentally exhausting.
But she couldn’t stay here, especially now, with the police coming. She had no criminal record, but if she was charged with breaking and entering, then she would have one. And that might leave a trail she couldn’t
